Why won´t you let me love you?
by Rumtreiberin
Summary: Too old, too poor, too dangerous… This very sentence keeps echoing through the walls of my mind, just like one of my dad's old vinylrecords, which got stuck once again. It’s a horrible sentence, cruel and ruthless. [NTRL]


**Title: **Why won´t you let me love you?

**Author:** Rumtreiberin

**Disclaimer:** Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin belong to JKR

**Genre:** Romance/Drama

**Summary: **Anytime in the summer between book 5 and 6. The Order of the Phoenix just put a few death eaters to rout, everyone left except Tonks and Remus. And Tonks thinks about her ´relationship´ with Remus and the fact, that he doesn´t seem to love her.

**Pairing:** NT/RL

Why won't you let me love you?

The black sky above us is sparkling with thousands of stars and our heavy breath rises from our mouths in white, feathery clouds. Everything around us is quiet, the death eaters are gone, as well as the members of the order, and the wild Scottish landscape appears almost magical in the moonlight. For a tiny moment everything seems to be all right.

But then you look at me.

Are you aware of that arrogant glance in your soft, golden eyes?

Long ago, in those happy times you miss so much, you were a marauder. Moony you had been called, the most sensible of the four troublemakers. Well, at least everyone said so. Calm, tolerant and gentle you were, compared to these carefree swanks your best friends had always been. I knew my dear cousin Sirius and I can perfectly imagine the infamous, boastful Potter-grin, when you're talking about the good old days every now and again. But right now, in this very second you're standing in front of me, I know everyone was wrong.

Your cold eyes are staring at me with such arrogance, that I can't help but feeling like a naughty, stupid kid, incapable of understanding something that is so clear to you. I hate the way you look at me, so convinced that you alone know what's good for me. Quite ironic, considering that you are the only thing I really need.

I need you, Remus John Lupin and I'm not willing to give up on you.

I love your small, shy smile you sometimes give me, just before remembering that you're not supposed to like me. I love your brains and the way you never seem to be sure whether you should be ashamed or proud of being so clever. I love your thick, light brown hair and the sandy, black and grey streaks running through it. I love the golden wolfish flicker in your kind eyes. I love you for being calm when I'm furious. I love the fact that you are so not like me.

But you just don't care.

Too old, too poor, too dangerous…

This very sentence keeps echoing through the walls of my mind, just like one of my dad's old vinyl-records, which got stuck once again. It's a horrible sentence, cruel and ruthless. You should not talk like that about yourself and above all, you should not use such things as an excuse. And it's nothing else than a paltry excuse, isn't it?

Too old? You can't be serious about that, Remus. You are thirty-six, which is quite everything but old. And sometimes, sometimes you´ re behaving like a little schoolboy, so shy and insecure that it's almost sweet.

Too poor? Do you really think I would care? Do you really think I'd be that kind of person?

Too dangerous? I am an Auror. I fought against death eaters and dementors, boggarts and banshees. I wouldn't be afraid of the tame werewolf I love. The only thing I fear is losing you, losing you before I even got hold of you.

But the longer you look at me like that, the more I believe I already lost you. And I am starting to think that it's not a stupid noble reason which prevents you from loving me, but the simple fact that you do not care about me.

Is it in fact me who is too young, too loud, too clumsy? Am I just imagining that fond and protective gleam in your eyes mingled with…what is it? Fear?

You are still looking at me in that firm, haughty way and I'm trying to hate you for being such an idiotic pighead, but I can't. And so I'm saying the only thing I can think of.

´ I love you.´

It is barely louder than a whisper, but I can tell you´ve understood. The reserved, arrogant expression vanishes in your eyes, leaving them open in shock and uncertainty. I want you so much to say anything, no matter what. Scream at me, tell me I'm foolish and naïve, just do anything. But all you do is looking at me, opening your mouth slowly just to close it a second later, like some dumb fish. And then, without another word, you turn your back on me. Leaving me, leaving me alone here after I bared my soul to you, making me feel like a complete moron. I want to run after you, forcing you to speak to me and I probably would, had it been the first time you left me like that. But the truth is: you're doing this all the time, running away, acting like an idiotic coward while trying to be as noble and smart as possible.

Desperately and lonely I am sinking down to the ground, not caring about the wet grass which soaks my robes. My hands are curling into fists, an evident sign that shows how much I'm trying not to cry. Of course it doesn't work. A single tear trickles down my cheek and suddenly I know that there is something terribly wrong. It feels like losing hold of everything, my feelings, my personality, my control and since that day I sometimes ask myself, whether your painful transformation every month feels a bit like this loss of my Metamorphosing. I realize that my hair turns from my beloved bubblegum-pink into a horrible shade of mousy-brown and I know that I won't be able to change it back. All of a sudden my charisma, my straightforward nature, everything I am about disappears, turning my outward appearance into an exact reflection of my inner feelings. Miserable is probably the right word to describe it.

With a helpless gesture I wipe away my tears, force myself to get up from the ground and take one last look back into the sky. For some reason the stars don't seem to shine anymore.


End file.
